


Dirty Laundry

by nextgeneration



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal, Androids, Armpit Kink, Bears, Bottom Hank, Bottom Hank Anderson, Close call, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Licking Things, Fantasizing, Fetish, Gay Sex, Gratuitous Smut, Hangover, Homoeroticism, Kissing, M/M, Maids, Male Homosexuality, Masturbation, Mattress Fucking, Pining, Scent Kink, Scents & Smells, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Top Connor, Underwear Kink, Underwear Theft, Unrequited Lust, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Used underwear, a late submission for bottom hank day, this is a huge kink of mine i'm sorry in advance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nextgeneration/pseuds/nextgeneration
Summary: Connor has has salacious fantasies about his work partner. When the android offers his services in cleaning Hank's house, his ulterior motives soon become clear.Happy late bottom Hank day!EDIT 09/08/20: Added a little more vocab and adjective-wise because I didn't reread enough times before posting. Whoops.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 11
Kudos: 83





	Dirty Laundry

Hank’s naked body is swaddled in a sea of grey blankets as he sleeps off a night of heavy drinking. He rubs his tired eyes unconsciously, incoherent mumbles rising to his lips as he hears the front door open. Sumo sits by his side, curled up on the living room rug, and snores. When Hank’s arm falls off the edge of the couch, his hand unceremoniously whacks the Saint Bernard’s head. The dog yelps, suddenly jolting awake, and turns his snout toward the front door in stunned silence. The sun shines brightly through the haze of late morning rain.

Connor stands just inside the door frame, his coat over his arm and his spare key in his hand. His dark brown hair has become nearly black in color, thoroughly drenched, and water runs down the sides of his face. When the hound realizes that the android poses no immediate danger, he stands up, turns around a few times, and settles back down, reacquainting himself with the fur-ridden rug.

Connor has become a familiar face in Hank’s home, and Sumo no longer seems perturbed by his presence. It all started about two weeks into their friendship -- Connor had offered to clean up around the house in return for a place to stay. His superior had accepted the proposition without much hesitation, which didn’t come as a surprise to the android, seeing as the older man had an irrational resistance to tidying up his living space.

Their agreement seems to be working out well, all things considered. Connor doesn’t get in Hank’s way, and Hank doesn’t get in Connor’s. They function separately, but agreeably, and the stability of intelligent company seems to be beneficial to them both.

The android flicks on the light, only to quickly turn it off again when he sees the lieutenant crashed in the middle of the living room. Hank’s head rests on the arm of the couch, slack-jawed and peaceful, and his fingers rest against his dog’s pelt. The older man snores loudly, and he rubs at his face in his sleep. Connor decides not to rouse the human, instead slipping off his dress shoes and shutting the front door quietly.

When Connor reaches Hank’s bedroom, he cracks the door open with a careful hand, peering inside. As usual, the lieutenant’s bed is unmade, his white bed sheets crumpled into a tight wad of fabric on the left side of the bed. The older man’s dirty laundry litters the floor, which is equally unsurprising. A pair of blue and white checked boxers catches Connor's eye, and the android zeroes in on it, biting his tongue. His LED whirs yellow. _Jackpot._

It’s embarrassing to admit. Downright humiliating, even. Connor wanders into the room, locking the door behind him. Without a second thought, he lowers himself to the ground, squatting silently on the floor next to the lieutenant's underwear.

He’s got a thing for bodily scents.

Connor has absolutely no idea where it came from, but when it finally came to the center of his attention, boy, did it come _hard._ The first time Connor had done Hank’s laundry, he'd spent a good hour of his time burying his nose in the clothing, soaking up all of the wonderful smells they held, all while touching himself through his own jeans. It was something about Hank’s pheromones, the android figured. An error in his software, perhaps? It most certainly _wasn’t_ something that Connor had been programmed to care about. The android grows flustered, and his face reddens.

Shame be damned. If he liked it, he might as well indulge in it.

Connor picks up a pair of boxer shorts between his fingers, shaking out the cloth gently and letting the legs of the garment unfurl, the fabric turning inside out. The garment is miraculously stainless, but still clearly worn. The android runs a finger along the seam, admiring the frayed, popped stitches on the inside of the leg. Hank had obviously bought these several years -- and several pounds -- ago.

The thought of Hank wearing them, stretching their fabric, moving in them, sweating in them while he worked… Connor’s synapses stop dead in their tracks, and a nagging tightness begins to grow beneath his jeans. The android licks his lips, rubbing his fingertip along the inside of the jock cup, and settles his back against the side of Hank’s bed. He spreads his legs open, cock twitching behind his fly, and brings the underwear to his face without a second thought.

The first breath in is heavenly, as it always is, and Connor’s length bobs eagerly in response. The android holds the fabric up against his skin and presses his nose into the gusset, eyelids fluttering shut. The unique smell of sweat and skin swirls in his nostrils, and against his better judgement, the android allows himself a stifled moan, fiddling with the button on his jeans with his free hand. Connor’s length flops free of its constraint, and he drags his open palm along it, reveling in the smell of Hank’s worn boxers.

Connor tips his head back, mind focused only on Hank's delicious musk, and wraps his fingers around his cock, his eyes rolling back as he pumps his left hand up and down his shaft vigorously. The android imagines Hank sitting at his desk in the office the previous week, shifting his weight uncomfortably and probably throwing out a cuss word or two. He had undoubtedly been sweating his balls off when the air conditioner malfunctioned. Stewing in a ninety degree office for eight hours straight had been Hell for Hank, but for Connor, who knew all too well that the human would be eager to shed his clothes, it was nothing short of pure bliss. The knowledge that the older man only changed his underwear once a week only made Connor’s cock harder, painfully hot arousal burning in the pit of his belly.

The android shifts, sitting up on his knees, and picks up a white tee shirt from the floor, its armpits stained yellow from years upon years of unrelenting sweat. Connor lays it out on the bed, burying his face in the arm of the fabric, and sighs, his body and mind both teeming with sexual frustration. He can smell every detail of Hank on his shirt, and it antagonizes him to be so, _so_ close to his object of affection, but at the same time, so unbearably far away.

Connor stuffs Hank’s underwear between the mattress and the box spring, fingers working feverishly in a cloud of pure lust, and hesitates for a moment, holding his cock in his hand. _God, Connor, you're such a fucking creep._ He presses his cockhead to the crevice, wedging it in as deeply as he can, and his legs tremble as he allows his mind to roam free. He imagines the feeling of Hank’s wiry chest hair beneath his hands. Bending down to kiss the older man’s inner neck as he penetrates him, the delightful sound of Hank cursing like a sailor as Connor splits him open.

The android’s lips part slightly, and his arms quiver as he grips the taller man’s tee shirt in a clenched fist, holding the cotton up to his reddening face. Connor thrusts in, and the mattress squeaks. He rocks his body into Hank’s underwear, making quiet noises as he tongues at the sweat stained shirt. The smell of the lieutenant’s body percolates in his nose, pungent and earthy and divine.

_“Fuck, Con, please,” The lieutenant cries as Connor pumps his fingers in and out of the older man's aching hole. “Fill me up, kid, Jesus...” Hank’s grey eyes glitter in the soft lamplight, and he rocks back against the android’s hand, his body eager and begging for more. He pushes long, gray strands back away from his face and bites his tongue between his teeth. Hank hisses as Connor adds a third finger, his broad chest caving as he lets out a sharp breath._

_Hank’s large gut is lifted against his torso as Connor presses the older man’s leg up, searching desperately for easier access. The human winces. “Easy, I’m not as flexible as I used to be,” Hank murmurs in the android’s direction, shifting his weight in order to rest more comfortably. Connor slows the pumping of his fingers, withdrawing them steadily, and replaces the digits with an eager tongue, his mouth working into and around the other’s hole._

_The human is covered in hair, soft fur coating every inch of his body. He is the very definition of a bear. Hank is so hardened in outward appearance, with a glare that could kill, but in secret, he’s wonderfully pliant, sexually hungry, and practically ready to melt in the palm of Connor’s hand. Hank grips his bedsheets in a tight fist, and he moans, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. The android digs in deeper, twisting his tongue, and presses the tip of his nose into the older man’s fur-covered taint._

_“Oh yeah, give it to me, baby,” Hank spits, wrapping his hand around his aching cock. The larger man's length drools from the tip, and copious amounts of precum dribbles onto his belly. Encouraged by Hank's words, Connor withdraws his mouth, his own length swelling painfully against his stomach. The older man's body aches visibly at the loss, and he huffs through his nose, brow furrowed in frustration._

_“I’m going to fuck you so hard, Hank,” Connor promises, lust shining down at the taller man from his deep brown eyes. The android is positively lost in his arousal, and his body swelters._

_“You’d fuckin’ better,” Hank replies, gap teeth shining behind his grin._

_When Connor first sinks in, he’s startled by how tight the older man is, and his knees threaten to buckle. The android grips Hank’s thigh, soft flesh dimpling beneath his fingertips, and the lieutenant groans, a carnal vocalization ripping through his body. The shorter man trembles, and he thrusts deeper, already teetering on the edge of orgasm. Connor's lips part, and he groans, his core singing with pleasure as Hank's muscles tighten around his length._

_Hank feels the other’s cock brush past his prostate, and he lifts his arms to grip the pillow propping up his head, panting and gasping as addictive fullness enters and leaves his body. Eager to seize the opportunity, Connor bends down, licking a wet stripe over Hank’s hairy, unwashed armpit. The android's wet tongue glides over the fur, and the taste of musk and sweat invades his curious mouth._

_“Nasty fucker,” Hank scolds, placing a calloused hand over the back of Connor’s neck. Hank's slate grey eyes glimmer, and the older man bites his lip. “C’mere.”_

_Connor and Hank kiss, swapping spit as the android drives his cock deeper, wet sounds ricocheting off of the bedroom walls. Connor delights in the scrape of Hank’s scruffy beard against his chin, moaning into the older man’s mouth as his fingernails scrape across the android's back. Hank’s extra weight jiggles as Connor accelerates his tempo, thrusting desperately into his lover's warm, wet embrace._

_Hank comes, hot ropes spraying up onto Connor’s stomach, and the older man twitches, his hands faltering as the android kisses him deeper. Connor curves his lower back and squeezes Hank’s leg beneath long, lithe fingers. His pace doesn’t slow, and he chases his own orgasm feverishly, thirsting for the ever-explosive release._

_“Con --_ shit _\-- slow --” Hank gasps, his body quaking as he’s overstimulated. The older man’s toes curl, and he cries out, his hole aching as Connor thrusts in and out of it. The android seems to be just like any other younger man -- full of energy, hard as a rock, and absolutely insatiable at all times. Connor sucks a hickey into the crook of Hank’s neck, and the older man grips the back of Connor’s head by his hair. “Fuck!” Hank calls out, face twisted in agony, grimacing as the android pounds him into the bed. The mattress creaks below them, and the headboard knocks loudly against the wall._

_“Shit, Hank, I’m gonna --”_

Connor groans audibly, body shuddering as he grips the side of the mattress. The android feels the heat in his abdomen flutter, and he ejaculates, cum shooting out from his throbbing cock. In reality, his length is buried in Hank’s used underwear, which is wedged between the box spring and the mattress of his bed. But in his imagination, he's releasing inside of Hank, feeling the older man’s plush, soft body writhe as he’s filled with ejaculate. Connor collapses back onto his feet, pulling out from the mattress, and Hank’s boxers come along for the ride, checkered cotton sullied even further by the android’s obscene behavior. He pulls the fabric away from his body, and it’s doused in sticky lubricant, drops of Connor’s spent seed dripping down into the carpet.

The android’s cock bounces once more before growing soft, and the fly of his jeans are soaked with his own orgasm. Out of sheer curiosity, Connor lifts the boxers to his mouth, sucking off the sticky substance and allowing it to coat his tongue. The other man’s residual DNA lights up a familiar sequence of code in Connor’s head -- Lieutenant Anderson, Hank, born September sixth of 1985. Connor lowers the cloth from his face and purses his lips, placing his flaccid length carefully back in his pants and buttoning his fly.

A banging knock at the bedroom door makes Connor jump out of his skin, and he rises to his feet abruptly, coming as close to sheer panic as an android is capable. He tosses the boxer shorts into the hamper and holds the tee shirt down over his obviously wet jeans, hoping that Hank didn't hear his groans. His thirium pump stumbles, and he turns the lock on the door with shaky fingers.

“The fuck is all that racket?” Hank grumbles, yanking open the bedroom door. Connor stands there, speechless. The human is naked, holding only a bath towel over his lower body. “Christ, Connor, I thought you were knocking down the damn wall.” Hank sets his jaw and scowls, his brutal hangover dampening the shine in his eyes. The lieutenant's hair is dripping wet, and it appears as though he’s just finished showering. “I’m gonna get back in bed and pretend that it’s socially acceptable for me to fall asleep at two in the afternoon, alright?”

Connor nods, squeezing the tee shirt in his hands. “Of course,” He says, his LED blinking red. Anxiety drips from his voice. “I’ll leave you to it.” His eyes flick between the taller man’s bare chest and his face, and for a moment, his gaze becomes caught on Hank’s. The human stares back at him with his hooded eyes.

The older man gestures down at Connor’s hands. “Doin’ something with that shirt?” He asks in a low rumble, his face deadpan. _Fuck._ Connor’s blood runs cold, and he grips the fabric tighter, stammering aloud as his program struggles to search his database for some kind of valid excuse.

“I-I’m about to wash it,” The android stutters, blinking unusually quickly when Hank sighs through his nose.

“Might as well wash it all then, huh?” The older man suggests, cocking an unamused eyebrow. Hank's lip twitches, and he sniffs, rubbing at his nose with a clenched fist.

“Yeah,” Connor replies, pinching his lips together. “Yeah, I think I will.”

Hank brushes past the android and rolls into bed, depositing his bath towel directly onto the ground. Connor takes the opportunity to rush around the room, gathering all of the older man’s dirty clothes in a wavering hand. The android holds the hamper out in front of his body, eyes flitting down at Hank. Much to Connor's relief, the older man drifts back into a lazy, booze-driven sleep in less than two minutes.

When Connor reaches the laundry room, he sits on the floor, his body still reeling from the startlingly close call. He reaches into the hamper and pulls out the freshly-used towel, feeling the gentle squish of wet cotton in his hands.

His arms tremble, and he holds the towel up to his nose.

_God damn it._

**Author's Note:**

> This is terribly pornographic. I do not apologize.
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, feel free to leave a kudos and a comment! If you'd like, you can check out my twitter -- https://twitter.com/cinnabubble -- and take a look at my infrequently updated lewd drawings. I also tweet out every time I upload a new work here. :)
> 
> P.S. I've said it once, and I'll say it again -- bottom Hank is wildly underappreciated. You all can have a little bottom Hank as a treat.


End file.
